


A Day in the Life...

by Bluewolf458



Category: The Professionals
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-30
Updated: 2013-11-30
Packaged: 2018-01-03 01:15:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1063932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bluewolf458/pseuds/Bluewolf458
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A day in the life of CI5 agents..</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Day in the Life...

**Author's Note:**

> Be warned; this is full of deliberate mistakes. I'd hesitate to call it humour. It's too overdone for that.

A Day in the Life...

by Jay Trent

As it neared the winning post, the horse running second put on an admiral burst of speed that took it passed the favourite. After passing the post, it continued to cantor down the track, gradually slowing to a trot.

Ray Doyle scowled. "I am defiantly not betting another penny today!" he muttered. 

Bodie grinned while secretly agreeing; every damn race on the card had been won by a long-odds, apparently no-hope outsider. "Just one more race to go, anyway," he said. "Let's head off now, before the rush."

Beside them, Murphy nodded. Of the three, he was the only one who'd won anything that afternoon, making a miner killing on a 100-1 outsider called Irish Murph. "I'll stand you both a drink."

They headed for the car park and Bodie's car. Bodie turned the key in the indignation and drove smoothly towards the exit.

He found a parking spot close to the pub they favoured; they enlightened from the car. Doyle paused to buy the early addition of the evening paper then speeded up to rejoin his fellow agents, joining them in time to hear Murphy ordering three bears.

They settled at a table in the still-almost-empty bar, their conversation turning to an incident from the previous day.

"I really thought that poor woman was going to have her kid in the middle of the street," Doyle commented. "Her contradictions were getting closer and closer... lucky the ambulance go through in time."

"Yeah, and her mother kept blaming her perspective son-in-law for the gas leak that closed the direct route to the hospital and the traffic jam that kept him from finding an alternative route," Murphy chuckled.

"I relay don't think the guy had any way to relies the potential seriousness of the situation," Doyle said. "But even so, I don't envy him with someone like that for a mother-in-law. Voice like a cornflake, she had."

They finished their bears and Bodie bought a second round for Doyle and Murphy, and an orange juice for himself - he didn't want to risk wreaking his car in an accident, especially when he considered Cowley's views on drunk driving. He was libel to get very shirty about it.

Over this drink, Doyle recanted a totally fictional story about an art student he had known when he was younger. "Her pictures were anaesthetically pleasing," he admitted, "but she couldn't arraign flowers in a vase to save her life."

He bought the third round, then with the pub getting busier they headed out. 

They paused in the doorway, glancing round, almost automatically looking for potential trouble. A sound from a nearby shop attracted their attention, and they moved purposefully towards it. Drawing his gun, Doyle threw open the door.

A frightened girl - obviously the shop assistant - coward in the uncertain shelter of a postcard display unit while a rough-looking man was riffling the till.

"Hold it!" Doyle snapped, his gun aimed at the man.

"Bastard!" the man growled vivaciously, as he surrendered.

Outside, Bodie noticed a man beginning to saddle away. An inefficient lookout, perhaps? Bodie moved after him. Abandoning stealth, the man began to run; Bodie perused him down the street. The man was running so fast, his impetuous took him off the pavement into the path of a car. Injured, he lay incumbent.

Bodie slid to a halt, his reparations slowing as he regained his breath. He was marginally aware of someone calling 999.

When the police arrived, he reported his suspicions of the man to them, then left them to it. He made his way back to where Murphy and Doyle waited, having seen the obvious thief taken into custody.

Just another day in the life of CI5 agents.

Bodie dropped Murphy off, then drove home. He and Doyle went up to his flat.

"Bed?" he asked hopefully.

Doyle just grinned, his shirt already halfway off, an insipid erection already beginning to make his jeans feel tight.

Naked, they lay together; Ray caressed Bodie's premium then ran his fingers up the ridged, erect organ. Bodie reciprocated, sliding a finger into Doyle's hole to stimulate his postdated. Doyle withered in ecstacy.

As they recovered, Bodie wiped the seamen from their thighs before they fell asleep.

In the morning, they made their way to CI5 headquarters. Cowley called them into his office.

"Are you aquatinted with this man?" Cowley asked as he pushed a photo over his desk.

Bodie and Doyle looked at it, and Bodie scowled. "I met him once in Africa. We were backing up the local army; one of their men got a post-humorous award for bravery, I remember. This guy was a great believer in corporeal punishment. It was a sorted business - civilians died unnecessarily."

"And if you went to see him...?"

"He'd meet me. But only if I were alone."

Cowley pushed over a piece of paper with an address written on it. "Go. But you must maintain the utmost digression," he said. Bodie nodded in a jester of agreement, glanced at Doyle, nodded once, and walked out. 

Within an hour, Ray felt a strange compunction to phone Bodie to see if he was all right. He went back to see Cowley, and talked him into giving him the address for Bodie's meeting; then he headed off, taking Murphy with him as backup.

At the address, he paused, studying the door. It was obviously boobytrapped. Leaving Murphy to diffuse the bomb - with no great expirations of success, but determined to do his best - Doyle moved round the building looking for another way in.

Inside, Bodie defiled his captor, stoically endearing the torture being inflicted on him. He knew all he had to do was suffer in silence; Doyle would come. He would probably be decimated at the discovery that Bodie had been tortured, but they could live through that.

Just as long as the nurse at the hospital didn't give him an enigma.

**Author's Note:**

> I was looking through some old files recently, and found this. I wrote it in 2005 to illustrate the use (or should that be misuse) of incorrect homophones.
> 
> The mistakes (some of which, on their own, had me laughing my head off) are all ones I'd found in stories from a number of fandoms. A lot of them came from stories posted on the net, some where the writer admitted the story wasn't betaed; but a surprising number were in zines, where the editor should have seen and corrected them.
> 
> Some could be typos that a spell check isn't going to pick up because they are proper words. Quite a few probably originated with people for whom English is a second language, and were simply spelling mistakes (and don't get me wrong, I have the utmost respect for English second language fans who write in English. Many are very good.) Neither of these possibilities, however, explains all of them.
> 
> In fairness, I've rarely encountered more than one of these mistakes in any given story, but many of them have thrown me out of a story because, for me, they destroyed the mood.


End file.
